Sunday Worship
by J9
Summary: It's raining on Sunday (Warrick-Sara)


**Title:** Sunday Worship

**Pairing:** Warrick/Sara

**Rating:** PG13

**Notes:** dynamicgravity was talking country music, and she said she thought Keith Urban's "Raining on Sunday" was a perfect W/S song. I read the lyrics, agreed, and asked her if she minded if I wrote it. It took a hellacious rainstorm outside to get me to write it (rain against the window was particularly evocative) and it ended up somewhere other than I planned (and with a whole 'nother title!) but here it is!

All week long, Warrick's been looking forward to today. Not that he puts much store in Sunday being a day of rest, that's more Grams's department, but his day off just happens to fall on a Sunday, and he had plans for the day.

Not exciting plans, true, more necessary evils. He's pretty sure that his kitchen cupboards are bare, any foodstuffs that were there long having developed the ability to walk and talk, so shopping is in order, after cleaning said cupboards. He can't remember the last time he saw his laundry basket, and the lawn is looking mighty long. Grams asked him over for dinner, even dropped hints about going to church that evening, and he'd been considering going; it's been far too long since he showed his face there, far too long since Grams got the chance to show off her work-in-progress.

Those are his plans, but he's well aware of how easily plans can change, and when he wakes up in the early hours of Sunday afternoon, following the shift from hell on Saturday night, he knows that his are going to.

Afternoon it may be, but through the gap in the curtains, he can see that the sky outside is a dull and dreary grey. He can hear the dash of rain against the windowpane, hear the wind that accompanies it, and, as a Vegas native, he knows that this isn't one of those famed Vegas showers that comes from nowhere and vanishes just as quickly. No, this is one of those rare animals, a storm that's going to linger for hours.

Which means that mowing the grass is out, so too is doing laundry, unless he can figure out how to work his tumble dryer. Even going shopping doesn't appeal, because he really doesn't want to be out driving in conditions like that.

Of course, there's one other compelling reason to stay in bed, and as he's staring out the window, wondering what he's going to do with his day, it presses against him, slides an arm across his chest.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of going out in that," Sara mumbles sleepily, and when he looks down at her, grips her hand in his, he's amused to discover that her eyes are still closed, blankets drawn around her tightly.

"I've got to feed you," he says reasonably, shifting so that he can take her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, one of his hands playing with her hair. "Keep your strength up." The last is accompanied by a kiss to the top of her head, drawing a laugh from her that he can only categorise as filthy.

"Take-out," she says promptly, turning her head to place a kiss on his neck, even as one leg slides up and over his.

"What about Grams?" is his next objection. "You know she was looking forward to seeing us."

"She won't mind." Sara sounds supremely confident, moving in one swift motion so that she's straddling his legs, smiling down at him. The sleepy look has gone from her eyes, he notes, replaced by one that can only be described as feral, and he can't say he minds it. "She's always telling you that you should spend more time with me."

She's not lying, and he chuckles in acknowledgement, his hands sliding up her thighs, coming to a stop at the smooth skin of her hips. His fingers flex there gently, and she shifts against him, eyes fluttering shut briefly, and the thought crosses his mind that if staying here means he gets to see her look like that, he'll never leave the damn room again.

He doesn't tell her that though. "So," he says instead. "What do you propose we do instead?"

Her eyes open, dancing wickedly, and she throws a glance to the window. "Pray for more rain," she says, turning back to him, lowering her lips to his. "And see what else we can come up with."

It's not, Warrick decides, as his hands slide up her back and he loses himself in her kisses, exactly the kind of Sunday worship he was planning on.

But it is theirs, and he has no intention of leaving.


End file.
